On April 24, something peculiar happened in the state Capitol. Senators, in the midst of passing and shooting down bills, well, they got emotional and began to cry and hug each other. No, they had not successfully passed a law to get rid of the House. Sen. Les Miller, D-Tampa, had just sung the Lord's Prayer. It was Saturday and no one had scheduled a religious leader to open the session, as is the tradition. So Senate President Jim King asked Miller to do the honors - in song. Recently back at his Ybor City office in Tampa, the St. Petersburg Times asked Miller about that day, about religion and politics, and his apparent ability to belt out a tune.
Were you nervous?
Yeah. I've sung a lot in my life, but any time you go before a group to sing or speak, I get a little nervous. And that particular day, I had to start over. I started, then I started over because of the fact that I was looking at my colleagues and I guess my mind just went. . . . I had to get myself composed. So I was nervous, no doubt about that.
Did you have to psych yourself up?
I rehearsed in the bathroom. I sang it a cappella, so I had to get my key right and all that good stuff. So, I practiced in the bathroom that morning and in my apartment that night, I got myself together.
Afterward, senators cried and hugged you?
A number of them. The particular one was Sen. Ken Pruitt. Ken Pruitt (R-Port St. Lucie) who is chairman of the Appropriations Committee. He sits right behind me. He was crying and he hugged me. Ken's wife is battling breast cancer. The first time she was attacked with breast cancer a couple years ago, she was going through it at the same time my daughter was going through breast cancer. We depended on each other a lot. I remember one session . . . he and I held each other and were crying because we had both gone through so much during that particular session. Well, this year, his wife thought she was in remission, and it came back. Then, at the same time, my wife was going through breast cancer. Gwen Miller, my wife, is chairman of the City Council in Tampa. . . . So I guess it got to him. A couple other people in the body, I saw when I finished, they were crying and they came over and they hugged me and things like that.
Were you surprised?
A little bit. You see, some of those members of the Legislature (act) real tough because I guess we've got to have that exterior about us. But deep down inside, people have to realize that we have feelings and emotions, too. So I had my eyes closed when I started singing it the second time. . . . I sang the whole thing with my eyes closed and when I opened up, that's when I saw it. It was kind of like, whoa. A lot of people felt that this morning, and they let me know that they felt it. We've got a lot of people in that Legislature, whether people know it or not, who are religious people. . . . A lot of people didn't know that Les Miller's a deacon in a church.
For a minute there did it feel like church?
Not a black church. (Laughter.) Not my church. It felt more like people were just overcome with whatever they were feeling that particular day. And it might have been someone's wife battling breast cancer to someone thinking about whatever and it just might have gotten to them that particular day. But feeling like church, the church that I go to, it didn't quite get to that point.
How does it feel at your church?
I go to a predominantly black Baptist church which is right down the street on Columbus Drive and 26th Street called New Mount Zion Missionary Baptist Church. And we started off service with a devotion by the deacons, usually with a song and a hymn and a prayer. We really start off pretty well. . . . You get the people standing and clapping with you and the amens.
What do you like to sing?
Anything from There's a Lily in the Valley to I Am a Living Testimony.
So you're old school?
Old school, but new school. If I'm singing a hymn, A Charge to Keep I Have. My dad (Les Miller Sr.) was a gospel singer, too. This was many, many, many, many years ago. He's deceased. This was in the '40s and '50s. He sang in a group called the Florida Soul Stirrers. That was the main one he sang with.
Were you raised in the church?
Oh yeah. I was an African Methodist Episcopal for a long time. And then, when I married, I changed over to the Baptist Church.
Would you say the Lord's Prayer is kind of your specialty now?
I guess people have made it my specialty. I sang it then (before the session). I sang it at a memorial service for Sen. Howard Futch, who passed away while he was in office. I sang it for Doug Jamerson. Doug Jamerson was a House member I served with for a while. Then he became the commissioner of education and secretary of labor. He ran against me in 2000, and I beat him, and we still remained friends. And at his service, I sang the Lord's Prayer. One of my fraternity brothers passed away and his wife asked me to sing the Lord's Prayer and I did. . . . I've been asked to sing the national anthem at a couple of events, too.
Does your faith sometimes conflict with politics?
I try to keep them separate. But there are certain issues you just can't keep separate. Some of the main issues we have, when you talk about abortion rights, should a teenager have to notify her parents and that kind of thing, I feel that a woman has a right to do what she wants to do with an abortion, except when they're not of age. And I think that the teenager should have to let her parents know, get the consent from parents before she gets an abortion. That's just my belief and I guess I grew up in church that way. I try to keep them separate. I don't want my faith interfering in politics. I don't call myself a politician, I call myself a public servant. . . . But it's difficult because I'm who I am. And you try to separate it, but sometimes you can't. . . . Every day I walk in that chamber, every morning I wake up when I deal with the legislative process, I ask the Lord to give me strength to make the right decisions. So I guess it's hard to separate, isn't it?
